


Come Back

by sweetspidey



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, M/M, One Shot, Spideypool - Freeform, fluff?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-19
Updated: 2017-12-19
Packaged: 2019-02-17 04:14:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13068900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetspidey/pseuds/sweetspidey
Summary: Peter comes back from a night patrol with Deadpool, the thing is he comes back alone.





	Come Back

Tired, exhausted, miserable. Those could be a bunch of vague words to describe Spider-Man’s feelings, they wouldn’t be enough though, because the hole that was growing inside him was already too deep, too dark, indescribable. That night he had saw things he could never forget and that would probably hunt him for the rest of his life.

It took him more than usual to swung across the city, mostly because he felt the urge to stop every now and then to throw up or to try and stop the incessant sobbing. He didn’t remember much of the trip on his way home, for example how he got the plastic bag attached to his body or how he managed to got home in one piece, what he did remember was Deadpool falling, the robots holding him, the blood and the sounds, the latter looping on his mind, making him sick every time.

As soon as he got inside his flat, Spider-Man put the bag aside and fell to his knees, he basically ripped the rest of his mask off his face and, acquired this position, the only way to eliminate the overwhelming wave of feelings that threatened to drown him was to throw up, and so he did. He didn’t feel any better, the emotions just got replaced by stronger and twisted versions of the originals.

He thought everything had been going great, he had put his shit together, picked himself up from the dumpster, that life seemed to not get bored of throwing him at, and built the life he thought he deserved. However, there he was, sitting in a corner of his flat, crying, staring at a janitor’s plastic bag that contained his boyfriend’s limbs.

It scared the shit out of him, it terrified him. He had lost so many people that one would think he’d got accustomed to it. The truth was it hurt him as much as the others did. Maybe more. There was something about Wade’s death that ripped his heart off and it was the uncertainty of him coming back to life, that tiny drop of hope could vanish in every second, making him more miserable than he already was.

It took him a few minutes to realise how much blood was coming from underneath the plastic bag and how the metallic sent was filling his lungs. Peter left the room as quickly as he could and locked himself up in the bathroom.

A haggard face stared at him from the mirror, bruises and wounds covered it, the ones that stood out the most were the one in his right eye and the one that went from his left cheekbone to his upper lip; the adrenaline, which have abandoned him long ago, didn’t permit the brunet to realise how bad his health was, because now just the tiniest of the movements made him grit his teeth.

He splashed his face with cold water and then proceeded to get rid of the vomit flavour. A pitiful stifle escaped his mouth when the mirror reflected him again, at least the water camouflaged the fact that he was still crying. His hands took the sink while his head fell down, his muscles tensed and his shoulders started to tremble when the crying transformed into sobbing. It took Parker about a half an hour to calm himself down before he could, patiently, rub a cotton stuffed with alcohol on the wounds. The physical pain eased the emotional one, making him feel some sort of relief.

As much as he wanted to stay on the bathroom he would need to leave at some point. Therefore, Peter took a deep, shaky, breath before leaving the fortress and walking down the hall where the vomit and the pool of blood waited to be cleaned. It make him nauseous to the point of opening the nearest window and to left the flat as fast as his body permitted him.

New York’s contaminated air filled his lungs and the light night breeze felt like a gentle stroke on his skin. Peter didn’t know where he was going, it had been a while since his body was on automatic, he just knew his hands webbed through the streets that were part of the night patrols, Wade would normally be by his side, running on the ceilings around him.

It was around dawn when Peter decided he was tired enough to got back to the flat. This time he entered through the window of his room, avoiding by all coasts the living room.

Peter woke up screaming at the top of his lungs with the alarm ringing at the background. His hands were positioned in a way that would have permitted him use his web shooters, the first image that came to his head was Gwen falling to the river, eyes petrified by fear, hands extended at him. He got out of bed shivering, doing a quick check at the living room, that only made him felt worse, he took a bath and then ordered ice-cream.

He didn’t really knew how much it had passed since that they. Maybe a couple of days, perhaps a month. What Peter did knew was that he had spent all of his days drowning in his sorrow, crying until exhaustion and eating very little, not to say nothing. He was scared of sleeping because every time his eyes were closed images of all the people he had lost and Wade flashed in front him, like a compilation of their best moments together. He didn’t want that. He knew he couldn’t get back Gwen or Uncle Ben, but there was this tiny chance that Wade could come back, and he needed to feel his boyfriend’s skin under his fingertips, to hear his laugh at the end of an awful pun or those stupid pet names he acted to hate but actually he loved them, he needed Wade Wilson.

That night he dreamt about their first date.

The following morning Peter crawled his way out of bed when his alarm sounded after a few hours of sleep. He had cried all night long therefore the pillow was still wet when he left the bed, as soon as he entered the living room he find out the pool of blood and vomit, were gone, just like the plastic bag. Wade was standing in the kitchen wearing nothing but a pair of Peter’s boxers and a ‘kiss the cook’ apron.

“Mornin’ baby boy” The scarred man greeted in a cheerful voice that made Parker’s heart to start beating again. Peter never felt more alive and thankful “How was your sleeping?”

The older man turned around to kiss his boyfriend and the happiness abandoned his face when he was finally able to saw his sweetums paleface, the fatigue and suffering that hid his eyes and the wounds that still covered it made him realised something was wrong.

“For how much time was I gone?” Wade whispered in a tiny voice, opening his arms welcoming Peter.

The younger man embraced the older while stroking his body, looking for where his limbs grew back and locating the new scars too. Wade caressed his hair at the same time, telling him comforting thins and how he didn’t need to cry, even though Wade was at the edge of tears.

“You’re here now” Peter mumbled without moving and inch from his place In Wade’s arms “That’s what matter to me right now”


End file.
